


An Innocent Mistake

by zaan



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Crossover, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Mistakes, Post-Canon Fix-It, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaan/pseuds/zaan
Summary: "I mean, anybody would have made the same mistake.""Indubitably, Crowley," Aziraphale consoled.Aziraphale, Crowley, a mixed up blessing/curse, and one Julian Bashir and Elim Garak caught in the mess.





	1. The Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> A little cross-over; my 30th work!

"I mean, _anybody _would have made the same mistake."

"Indubitably, Crowley," Aziraphale consoled. He took a cautious sip of the viscous blue liquid the funny-looking man with the large ears had pushed toward him when he'd requested something sweet. He pursed his lips. "Oh, how ... sticky," he said, pushing the glass away and patting his lips with a napkin.

Crowley looked up blearily. "You should try **this**_,_" he said, shaking his glass so that the liquid sloshed around in invitation. "If I'd known they'd had drinks like this, like this Romulinian ale, here, I would've stuck around the first time and not bolloxed everything up."

Here was the space station Deep Space 9, in a bar called Quark's, rather late in the evening. Aziraphale looked around the emptying bar. He'd felt a little overwhelmed earlier, with all the strange new aliens buzzing around him. He looked back at Crowley, hanging dejectedly over his drink. It was time to take action. He patted Crowley on the arm. "_Do_ sober up, Crowley," he urged, "I'm sure we can put everything right, and no one will ever be any the wiser."

"You think?" said Crowley, hope crawling into his voice.

"I'm sure of it, my dear."

"Oh, you're an _angel, _angel," Crowley said, giving him a lopsided grin of affection and squeezing his hand. Aziraphale blushed.

As he waited for Crowley to drain the alcohol from his system, Aziraphale thought, not for the first time, that the higher ups (and higher downs) _might _have been a little misguided in their decision to mess with the jurisdictions. While it was true that humans had expanded across the galaxy, intermingling with other species on the way, and while it was true that it made some sense for angels and demons like him and Crowley to be familiar with these new locales, and for each to do blessings as well as curses (to cut down on travel time), it was _not _true that the next logical step was for all angels and demons assigned "planets-side" to do be responsible for all beings everywhere and not just humans. While it was all very interesting, it was all very confusing, what with all the different customs and cultures, and it led, inevitably, to mistakes just like this one.

"Let me see if I understand," said Aziraphale, once he had Crowley's full attention. "You got a blessing and a curse mixed up. Correct?"

"Right. Anybody would've. I mean, look – you've got this Human, Julian Bashir, who was augmented as a kid lying on his admission to Starfit Academy or whatever so that he can become a doctor and help people. Clearly one of yours, right?"

"Well, he _did _lie .."

"I know, but look," Crowley said, waving a hand around excitedly, "Then you've got this Cardassian, Elim Garak, who's an habitual liar, torturer and assassin. Clearly one of ours, don't you think?"

"Well, yes, except –"

"Exactly. Except it was all done with purity of heart in service of the state, etc., making him a virtual paragon of virtue – at least from a Cardassian point of view. So instead of Julian Bashir being exiled and Elim Garak enjoying a prestigious career, it's all arse backwards. But that's not the worst of it."

Aziraphale knew the look well. "Crowley," he admonished, "What did you do?"

"Well," said Crowley, with a little roll of his shoulders, "When I realised my mistake it was some years later, when I was so busy with that senator thing, remember? Anyway, I didn't look into it as closely as I should have, just did a quick reverse curse/blessing. I lifted the exile on the Cardassian and got the Human kicked out of Starfrit."

"I'm assuming there were some extenuating circumstances that should have been taken into consideration?"

"And then some. Turns out Cardassia had been almost totally annihilated, and so lifting the exile turned out to be a bit cruel, really. And the doctor had already been outed and punished when his enhancements had been discovered, so wrecking his life further – especially with all the good stuff he'd done since – was a bit of overkill. And now they're both miserable and I don't know how to fix it."

"I see," said Aziraphale. He thought for a moment. "Let me take a look at the file," he said. He conjured up the two lives in his mind, watching them play out like movies in fast-fast forward. He hadn't really hoped to come up with anything brilliant – really, he was just buying time – but as the lives raced forward, criss-crossing together and then apart, he saw it – the answer – clear as day.

He beamed at Crowley. 

"What?" said Crowley.

Aziraphale shook his head primly. "You'll just have to wait and see."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very much time to write just about now, so I'm doing these little scenes as they occur to me and just seeing where everything goes

Aziraphale and Crowley were in Quark's again. 

Actually, it would be more accurate to say it like this:

Aziraphale and Crowley were in Quark's. Again. 

Quark was growing quite fond of them, economically speaking. They drank whatever he gave them, in whatever amounts he gave him, for whatever outrageous price he charged them, without complaining, without vomiting, and without getting into fist fights. He was seriously considering ousting Morn from his decades-long run of Customer of the Month.

"You waiting for someone?" Quark asked as he brought them a bottle of Romulan ale.

"No, no," said Aziraphale, startling guiltily. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"The fact that you keep looking at the door and asking each other when you think he's going to come."

"Ah, well, yes. But you won't tell, will you?"

Quark shrugged. "Not me. I mind my own business." Emphasizing his point, he grabbed the empty glasses and made a show of taking them away.

"Are you sure, angel," said Crowley, leaning forward and pulling his sunglasses down slightly to stare at him, "That this is going to work?"

"Have a little faith, can't you, Crowley? It's rather a clever little plan, if I do say so myself. I don't see how it could possibly go wrong."

Crowley sniffed. "That's what I said about the anti-christ."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had time for another quick chapter today

"Doctor!" said Quark. "I didn't expect to see you around these parts again."

"Neither you nor me," said Julian Bashir. His hair was a little dishevelled, his clothes a little rumpled, and his eyes more than a little tired. 

He looked, Quark thought, a long cry from the dapper young officer who had once bounded eagerly onto the station. Not that that mattered; a customer was a customer was a customer. "What'll you have?" he asked.

"Oh, er, just a glass of water, please Quark."

Quark frowned. Normally, such a request would have landed the so-called customer out on his rear. However, Rule of Acquisition # 187 (Unusual situations can lead to unusual profits) made him pause. The doctor being here was very unusual. Besides, he was feeling nearly charitable from all the money rolling in from Aziraphale and Crowley. He poured out the water and, along with it, a complimentary root beer (watered down, of course).

"On the house. So, how're things out on Vadari VII?"

Julian, who had been patently bestowing stealthy glances around the room, turned back to him. He lifted the glass in thanks, then took a drink. "Still rebuilding. They were hit pretty hard by the Breen. Actually, I've been working on studying the effects of Breen radiation –"

"Uh huh, uh huh, so you're keeping busy, that's good," Quark interrupted. The doctor babbling on about do-gooder free-medicine-for-all pursuits was _not _unusual. "What brings you back here, of all places?"

"Well, it's rather odd. I received this letter ..."

"Uh huh. Go on."

"You haven't, by any chance, seen Garak around here, have you?" He looked around the room again.

"Garak?" exclaimed Quark, casting his own glance around. Unusual indeed! He leaned over the counter and whispered conspiratorially. "This isn't some spy thing, is it? Some spy thing requiring a lot of black market goods, perhaps?"

"What? No! I just – it's just - forget it," he said, draining the rest of the root beer bitterly. He stood up. "Thanks for the drink, Quark."

"But doctor, shouldn't you wait just a little bit longer? You know how Garak likes to make a dramatic entrance."

Julian shook his head dejectedly. ”There's no point. It was probably just a practical joke. Anyway, there's a shuttle back tonight; if I hurry, I can still catch it."

He pushed himself away from the counter and left.

Three seats down, Aziraphale said, "I don't understand. What went wrong?"

"Maybe the Cardassian's just late," said Crowley. "What with the planet being all post-apocalyptic and everything, I imagine the trolley schedule's not as regular as it could be."

"But we don't have time to wait - he's leaving!" moaned Aziraphale.

"Well, we'll just have to stop him, won't we?" Crowley grabbed his arm and dragged him off the stool. 

"Oh, Crowley, a pursuit!" Aziraphale exclaimed happily. "We haven't had done that in simply eons!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vadari VII is a shout out to Aurora Novak series of the same name, though here when Julian got drummed out of Starfrit - I mean, Starfleet - he moved there on his own and is, of course, not nearly as happy


	4. Chapter 4

Julian Bashir, lost in his own rather depressing thoughts, failed to notice the ethereal footsteps that followed him. He'd known it was too good to be true. Of course Garak didn't want him. He should have known better. The letter should have tipped him off, really. It hadn't sounded at all like how Garak would make a protestation of love (he should know, having imagined it often enough, especially since his lonely stint on Vadari VII).

He reminded himself that he was lucky, though he didn't feel it. He was still a Federation citizen, if an unwanted one. He could still practice medicine, if not in Starfleet. He still had his friends, even if they weren't around him.

It didn't help. His emotions told his logic to stuff it. The problem was that he'd allowed himself to get his hopes up. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that his optimism seemed unkillable. 

He trailed into the shuttle bay to purchase his ticket, only to find that the shuttle had had an odd mishap. Apparently, the steering apparatus had fallen off (where did they make these shuttles, Fereginar?) and the flight was cancelled.

Great. More bad luck. At least he had the quarters he'd initially booked. At least he could get a decent night's sleep if nothing else. He trudged back up through the habitat ring. 

He was nearly there when he finally paid attention to the nagging feeling that he was being followed. He was. Two odd characters, one shorter with curly white hair; the other lanky and lean, wearing shades and sporting a spiky red hairdo. They'd been in the shuttle bay. Come to think of it, he'd seen them in the bar, too.

He felt irritation growing inside him. So they'd come to gawk at the Augment, had they? It had happened before. He hurried around a corner and waited. 

As they hurtled around the corner after him he confronted them. They skidded to an awkward halt in front of him.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, arms crossed, face defiant.

"Oh, oh no," said the shorter one. "Thank you."

Julian glared. "Then do you mind telling me why you're following me?"

The answer came from a shadowed alcove behind Julian.

"An excellent question, doctor," said an oh-so-familiar voice.

Julian's mouth dropped open as the owner of said voice stepped up beside him, phaser pointed squarely at the two beings. Garak smiled. "One I'd quite like an answer to myself."


	5. Chapter 5

Garak was tired and hungry and dirty; he'd been tired and hungry and dirty for months, building up something of the Cardassia he remembered out of the rubble.

Now, he was tired and hungry and dirty and confused. He'd come to DS9 after receiving the purported love letter from 'Julian'. _Ineffable love? Really?_ As if Julian could ever love someone like him. Suspicions raised, he'd checked his computer thoroughly and found that his own system had been compromised, and that a similarly sentimental letter had been sent from 'Garak' to Julian. But where the letters had been painfully amateurish, the sophistication with which his system had been hacked was beyond professional – he still couldn't understand how it had been done.

So he had come to investigate, discreetly. His initial suspicions rested on Section 31, but he was on the station less than a day before he dropped that notion. The two 'operatives' – if that's what they were – were _not_ Section 31. No matter how low his opinion of Section 31, they were more intelligent than _that._

There was, however, something distinctly odd about the two. The way they always seemed to wear the same (unrumpled and meticulously clean) clothes, how they had no notion of money, how they seemed bemused by everything around them and yet unconcerned, how they drank gallons of Romulan ale yet were never drunk at the end of the night.

When Julian had come in (and oh, to see Julian looking as dispirited and dishevelled as himself) he'd decided to follow them. After the decidedly odd incident with the shuttle (he wasn't even sure there _was _a steering apparatus to fall off) he'd decided to confront them.

And instead of the usual threats or bluffing or pleas of "Please don't kill us!" the smaller one simply asked him politely not to 'disincorporate' them. 

"You can't imagine the paperwork," he added, conspiratorially.

"I'm sure it won't be necessary," Garak reassured him. "If you'd be willing to answer a few questions?" he raised an eye ridge and gestured towards Julian's temporary quarters.

"Oh yes, of course," said Aziraphale.

"We could use with a drink though," said Crowley.

"We're not used to pursuits, you see," explained Aziraphale. "It really takes it out of one, doesn't it? And a nice bit of refreshment is never out of place. Perhaps some of those lovely sand peas from Quark's? You can put it on our tab," he said hastily, misinterpreting Julian's stupefied look.

"Lovely!" said Garak.

Julian cast a quick glance at Garak. "Oh, er, right. Lovely."

"Shall I go down?" offered Aziraphale. "Quark's such a friendly fellow, I'm sure he won't mind bringing it up here."

"For a charge, of course," said Crowley, who was obviously the more worldly of the two.

"Thank you, but there's no need to exert yourself further. Computer, Garak to Quark."

"_Garak? When did you get on the station? Did you know Dr. Bashir -"_

_"_Yes, Quark, I'm quite aware. We're here now at the guest quarters at H301 with your friends, Aziraphale and Crowley. I'd like you to bring up a selection of drink and food - _vintage drinks and good food, _Quark, not the swill you've undoubtedly been foisting on them, and a reasonable price." Before Quark could reply, he ended the transmission.

"How marvellous!" said Aziraphale. "A phone without a phone. Mortals really are quite ingenious, aren't they?"

Crowley smiled and lifted his sunglasses slightly, so Julian and Garak caught a glint of reptilian eyes. "I think, angel, you're getting ahead of the story a little."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - very busy at work this last while!

Aziraphale beamed at Garak. "My dear sir, I must thank you for the splendid repast, not to mention the divine kanar. All Cardassian food, I believe you said?"

Garak inclined his head graciously. Besides appreciating a good meal himself (a rare occurrence these days), he recognised its ability to help all kinds of species relax and feel comfortable. Which in turned helped to loosen their tongues. "More kanar?" he asked – a moot question, as he was already pouring. "Yes, these are all Cardassian delicacies – or at least, the best approximation of them. Real food has a nuance replicated food does not, would you not agree?"

"Oh, of course, I'm telling Crowley that all the time." He cast a fond but exasperated glance at where Crowley's lanky limbs where sprawled on the couch. "I rather think he doesn't believe me."

"Yes, well, not everyone has the palate to appreciate it." Garak replied, with an arch look at Julian, who merely snorted in response.

"I can't remember when I last tasted such wonderful new food. It must have been five – no six hundred years ago. Do you remember, Crowley? It was that little place in ... " he stuttered to a halt. He was getting _that look _from Crowley again. The look he got any time he tried to tell a really interesting story. 

"Oh?" Garak asked, pretending he hadn't noticed _the look._ "Might I assume, then, that appearances notwithstanding, you two gentlemen are not, in fact, human?"

"Well ...." said Crowley, "we are."

"But not exactly," filled in Aziraphale happily in a drunken interruption. "These _forms _are you see. More or less. They're corporeal, at any rate – convenient, but not entirely necessarily."

"So what are you, then?" said Julian, suddenly more interested. "Aliens?"

"Oh dear me, no. We're the originals. I'm an angel and Crowley's a devil."

"An odd friendship." asked Garak.

"Like you're one to talk," huffed Crowley.

"I can imagine how it could _seem _that way, if you didn't know the whole story." said Aziraphale. "You see, I was on apple duty ..." And there was that look again. Crowley _never _let him tell this story. And it was such a _good _story. And bless him, he was going to tell it. He shifted on the couch, deliberately putting Crowley out of his sight. "Apple duty," he continued.

Aziraphale hadn't had such fun in ages. Garak was _such _a good listener, throwing in little nods and words of encouragement, his gaze interested and sympathetic. He found himself not only telling the story of himself and Crowley, but complaining about that upcoming and ill-considered Interstellar Angel and Demon Exchange program.

"You can't imagine the difficulties," he said. "What's considered a heinous crime in one culture is a virtuous act in another. You end up making the most dreadful mistakes, like what happened in your case – " Aziraphale stopped, suddenly aware of the change in the room. Garak was preening, a pleased and predatory look in his eye. The doctor was leaning forward with his mouth open, while Crowley had his head planted firmly in his hands. "Not that ... it wasn't ..."

Crowley groaned. "Give it up, angel," he said fondly. "In for a penny, in for a pound, what?" He swung his glass towards Garak, the kanar sloshing alarmingly. "Y'see, I fucked it up. I was supposed to advance YOUR career, you being such a paragon of Cardassian virtue and service to the state and all, and exile YOU" – the glass swung round to a startled Julian – "For lying on your entrance exam to Starfoot." Finished, he gulped back the rest of the kanar and flopped back onto the couch.

The silence blinkered around them. Julian thought he had never seen such a look – a look of pure and utter shock – on Garak's face as he realised that those terrible years of exile had all come down to human (or rather demon) error. Julian poured out a stiff measure of whiskey and thrust it into Garak's limp hands. He pushed aside his own shock and turned to Crowley and Aziraphale.

"All right, but that was years ago. Why are you here now? Why did you fake those notes to try to bring us here?"

"As an apology" said Aziraphale.

"Right," said Crowley.

"And how does playing what could be considered a rather cruel joke do that?"

"Cruel? " Aziraphale glanced back and forth between them. "Surely," he said, "Surely the two of you have at least a faint understanding of how hopelessly and extravagantly in love you are with each other?'

There was another stunned silence.

Crowley grinned and raised his glass, suddenly in a much better mood. "Cheers."


	7. Chapter 7

If Aziraphale had expected his observation to be met with dawning comprehension and gratitude (and he definitely _had _expected it) he had never foreseen the reaction that met his statement.

Shock, certainly, but shock followed by an outrage in the form of a bristling, scowling Cardassian.

"I am assuming," Garak said coldly, "That you don't understand that what you have just .. insinuated .. is a terrible insult."

"Oh! Oh? I'm afraid I – Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, turning plaintively to the demon.

Crowley shrugged unhelpfully. He'd _told _Aziraphale he was imagining things.

"I will not deny," continued Garak, "That I feel deep regard and, yes, affection for Doctor Bashir. However, despite the perversions the military are known to engage in, decent Cardassians do not entertain thoughts of bonding with aliens. Such a thought is, to us, quite repulsive. Why, I could no more love the doctor than prefer Preloc to Kadhar!" He turned primly to Julian. "No offense, my dear doctor."

Julian, whose face had undergone several contortions over the last minute, managed to pull himself together. He gave Garak a brief but hard stare before turning to their guests. "Sorry, but I'm not in love with Garak either. I mean – he's my friend, yes, but – whatever made you think he and I were in love?"

Aziraphale, crestfallen, shook his head in bewilderment. "I really don't know what to say – as soon as I saw the two of you together, I was so _certain_ of it_!"_

"I think, angel," said Crowley, "They might have reminded you of us, a bit, back then, y'know?"

"Oh, Crowley! You're right, of course you are. Friends on the opposite side, lunches and debates ..." he smiled adoringly at Crowely. "It almost made me nostalgic, you know? And so I assumed ..." He turned back to Julian and Garak. "It took Crowley and me six thousand years to realise, well, what we felt for each other, and I thought well, you know ... I am terribly sorry, you know. I've just made things worse, haven't I?"

"It's quite all right," Garak replied with a courtly nod of his head and sweep of his arm, brushing aside the matter graciously. "I do, now that I understand, appreciate the _sentiment._ And, of course, if you _really_ want to make it up to us, you can."

"We can?"

"Of course, I don't wish to speak on the doctor's behalf, but perhaps re-enlistment in Starfleet? For myself, there is the matter of Cardassia and her plight." For a moment, the naked emotion shone in his eyes.

Aziraphale looked decidedly unhappy and uncomfortable. Crowley shifted over and put a consoling arm around his shoulder. He answered for the both of them. "It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid. Nothing big, nothing miraculous, nothing anybody would _notice._ After everything that's happened, putting him back in Starflit would make people _wonder_, you see. And that's nothing compared to curing famine or buildings miraculously rebuilding themselves. We're rather limited to small interventions these days."

"Of course," said Garak, doing a poor job of masking his disappointent.

"But if there's anything else?" Aziraphale ventured hopefully.

"Oh, I suppose," said Garak. "The doctor, for example, was telling me about this fascinating research he was doing with – what was it, doctor, Ketrian prions?" He gave Julian a pointed look.

Julian's eyes widened. "Oh, oh yes," he said. "It's just, I can't figure out how they mutate. It's not a big thing – I'm not going to win any awards if I solve it – but it would, um, be the first important paper I've published since being kicked out of Starfleet and it would, um, help."

Aziraphale rubbed his hands together delightedly, though Crowley was scowling slightly. "Excellent, excellent, just the thing! And you, my dear sir?" he asked, turning to Garak.

"I assure you, I'm fine."

"Now come," said Aziraphale, "There must be something?'

"Well, perhaps. There is one thing, although I don't know ..."

"Oh please, do go on," said Aziraphale.

"It _is _a question of a building, you see, or at least a room," he said, holding up his hand to forestall any protest. "I can guarantee you no one would notice its restoration. It's underground, and few people even knew of its existence. It is, however, or _was,_ a library of sorts. I must admit that, after the suffering of my people, it is the loss of books and information that I find it hardest to bear."

"Oh my dear, sir, I _completely _understand," said Aziraphale. 

"Yes," said Crowley doubtfully. There _was _something he was missing, wasn't there?

Nah, it was probably nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

It was some six months later that Crowley and Aziraphale were picking their way down a dusty street still heavily littered with rubble. It was still early, and the faint rays of sunshine caught the dust that billowed up from the feet of men and women on their way to work. Crowley noticed that despite the extent of the destruction, the faces of the people, though weary, held a certain, cautious optimism.

They walked without speaking, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. After some minutes, they arrived at their destination: a small structure, really a shack, that stood at the end of a quiet street. Its roof sagged, and the windows were cracked, but it was well tended and the ground around it cleared and swept.

The door opened before they had finished knocking, almost as if their approach had been observed. "Gentlemen!" greeted a seemingly unperturbed and unsurprised Garak, "How nice of you to call – though I must say, it's quite a surprise!"

"Is it, really?" Crowley drawled.

"Perhaps not."

"May we come in?" asked Aziraphale, unable to be impolite – in fact unable to be anything but pleasant - even though he was still annoyed. Very annoyed. "I'm afraid i=It's rather dusty out here – and the heat!"

"Of course," said Garak, stepping aside. "Where are my manners?"

The two entered through a narrow hallway into a neat and well-kept but sparse room with only a few shoddy pieces of furniture. Garak waved them to the a bench set with two worn cushions. "Please sit down. May I get you water? Tea? I'm afraid I don't have much else to offer, what with the rationing."

"Water would be lovely," said Aziraphale. His annoyance, his very great annoyance, had been lessening ever since they'd arrived on Cardassia and seen the evidence of suffering around them. He'd never been able to be completely reconciled to it. Now, sitting in Garak's run-down shed, seeing his leanness and the overly-patched clothing he wore, he felt the last of it fade.

Garak had just gotten the water when they heard a key entered into the front door. "Julian," Garak called out as the door swung open. "We have guests, my dear."

"Is it Lutta, Elim? How is Lennek doing? I have to – oh." Julian stopped as he walked in and saw Aziraphale and Crowley.

"Repulsive, eh?" said Crowley.

"Well," said Garak, as Julian joined him, "Just look at him. He is rather pink and squishy and – ow! _Must_ you keep doing that?"

"Don't think I've forgiven you," Julian warned, though the look he gave him had more lewdness than rancor in it.

Crowley cleared his throat, and the two reluctantly removed their gazes from one another. "So," said Crowley, 'Nice planet."

"I'm pleased you find it so," Garak remarked just as neutrally.

"It's doing remarkably well, considering ... well, everything. In fact, it's the talk of the quadrant."

"Er, really?" said Julian.

"Oh yes," said Crowley, putting a nice emphasis on his words. "That cure for the plague, for example ... some of your work, wasn't it?"

"Well, technically the original breakthrough – "

Crowley turned to Garak. "And the sudden increase in aid, from individuals who swore up and down they'd never lift a finger to help Cardassia, no less – as if they'd been threatened!"

"Stranger things have happened," said Garak.

"But not often. Some people," said Crowley firmly, "Some people are even calling it miraculous! Can you believe that?"

"People do have a tendency to exaggerate," said Garak.

Aziraphale, who had been fidgeting beside Crowley, burst out indignantly, "You lied!"

Garak blinked innocently. "My dear sir, every word was true."

"In its own way," said Crowley.

"Quite!" said Garak, beaming at him as if at a prize pupil.

"Including," said Aziraphale, "That you weren't in love!" Somehow he felt most aggrieved about that one, though he wasn't sure why.

"Oh, that!" said Garak, rolling his eyes and dodging a kick from Julian. "I didn't really, you know."

"You – you insulted him and said you could no more love him than – than prefer that other fellow over Preloc."

"Which he doesn't," said Julian. "I doubt he'd even choose me over Preloc. Plus, insults are a staple of Cardassian flirting." He gave Garak a fond, exasperated look. "It was quite romantic in an irritating kind of way."

"I see," said Aziraphale (who didn't). He really _must _take some of those cultural competency trainings. "I suppose that changes – " He narrowed his eyes at Julian as a sudden thought occurred to him. "But _you're _not Cardassian, and you distinctly said you didn't love him either!"

"Yes. I lied."

"You – " Aziraphale spluttered.

Garak threw a heated look of admiration, who blushed and mouthed the words "_later”._

"We could have gotten into quite a lot of trouble!" said Aziraphale. "Why, we could have been **reprimanded**!"

"But you weren't," said Garak, guessing.

"No, but that's not the point!"

"Try and see things from our point of view," said Julian. "Look around. Look at the people suffering – innocent people. It would have been immoral of us _not _to lie."

"Well ... " said Aziraphale. He had never been comfortable with the large part suffering seemed to play in the ineffable plan. Furthermore, he was coming to realise that his outrage had stemmed mostly from a fear of being caught. Still, he couldn't say he _approved._

Crowley had no such difficulty. His primary reaction on finding out they'd been duped as amusement. And impressed. "C'mon angel," he said, slapping him on the back, "It's all worked out in the end."

"Well, yes, I suppose."

"Besides," said Crowley, "that wasn't really the point of our visit." Yep, _that _had gotten their attention.

"Oh?" said Garak, as if he were not listening very intently.

Crowley grinned. "No. We wanted to offer you – "

"Both of you – " Aziraphale interrupted.

"Both of you," resumed Crowley, "A job."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't see that coming!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little teaser chapter

They were lying together in bed, loosely wrapped around each other as was their wont. Neither could sleep, though it was the middle of the night and pitch black as it always was, with the lack of generators. Outside, small nocturnal animals prowled with soft scuffles. Nothing could be heard from the front room, where their two guests were presumably sleeping. Did angels and demons sleep, Julian wondered? They certainly were fond of eating and drinking)

"So what do you think, Elim?"

"I think your knee is in my groin."

"Oh. Sorry." Rustling. "Better?"

"Much. As to your question, I'm not sure. There are certainly ... benefits ... to the proposal."

"And drawbacks."

"As you say. Are you tempted, Julilan?"

"Is that a deliberate play on words, Elim?"

A chuckle. "What do you think?"

"Fair enough." Julian stretched, yawned, and snuggled back into the Cardassian's shoulder. "I suppose I am. But, Elim, whatever we decide, we have to be in agreement."

"Of course. I'm not about to let you go, Julian."

"Nor I you, not after it took us so long to realise what we were both feeling." A pause. "So, we're in agreement then?"

"I rather think we are." 

Julian could almost see the glint of Garak's smile in the dark.


	10. Chapter 10

The four of them sat at a restaurant on Vulcan, a nice little place that Aziraphale had had recommended to him. Their waiter – serene as only a Vulcan waiter could be – had already taken their orders and brought them their drinks.

"Cheers," said Julian, raising his glass. The others followed suit.

"What's it been since we last saw you?" asked Crowley, "A month?"

"Six months. Closer to seven, actually." 

"Ah."

Immortals, Julian had discovered, inevitably had no sense of time. Nor of many other things. 

"You've been keeping busy, I presume?" asked Aziraphale.

"Mmmm," said Garak. "It seems our services are in rather high demand. You?"

"Oh, the usual. We visited Quark again for awhile. Such a charming fellow – and those sand peas!"

"We should go back, visit," said Julian to Garak. 

"And when would we find time to do that, my dear?"

"I think," said Aziraphale, "That I'm rather sorry I boasted about the two of you so much. Still," he continued reluctantly, "I suppose the greater good and all that."

"You should be charging."

"Really, Crowley," admonished Aziraphale. 

"Well, we're not exactly charging," said Julian, "But we are limiting the workshops to beings who have spent at least a year planetside in the last century – people were coming just for something to do, the waitlist was ridiculous."

"Well, can you blame them? Cultural history training from actual mortals, and not the boring, centuries-out-of-date pamphlets that were going around?"

"We've had to step back from that a bit," said Julian, "We found not many people had sufficient background knowledge, so we've thrown in some remedial training. Kind of a 'Mortals 101'." He shook his head and laughed at the wonderful absurdity that was now his life.

The job he and Garak had been offered was as Celestial Advisors. It had been Crowley's idea, impressed as he'd been by their maneuvering, and the Higher Ups and Downs had thought it wonderful (given how abysmally their intercultural exchange initiatives were going and seeing a way to turn things around).

They'd started on Cardassia, with Aziraphale and Crowley as their pupils (after Aziraphale had 'constructed' much nicer accommodations for them, creating a rustic shack outside and a penthouse inside). As word of their services had spread, they'd been 'loaned' out to other beings, traveling hither and thither (along with the job came benefits such as 'improved' corporal bodies and the ability to perform minor miracles, such as non-traditional transportation). The demand had led to workshops, and the success of the workshops to more workshops, so that between their work and sneaking in miracles under the radar, even finding time for a quick lunch with friends was proving difficult.

"It's been rewarding," Garak said, with a slight wink in his eye as he looked at Julian.

After all, in addition to their official work, they had their own, unofficial .... hobbies ... that had been progressing very well indeed. 

Crowley caught the look. "And just what else are you up to?" he asked.

"Nothing at all, my dear demon. Just taking the opportunity to engage in some friendly debate."

Crowley snorted. "You mean about how demons have got it all wrong?"

"But you have!" said Garak. "Think about it! What's the point of tempting good people, and only punishing bad people in the afterlife? If angels are there to bless the righteous, then logically demons should be there to punish the wicked – with the aim of that punishment acting as a deterrent, and thus effecting positive change. Demons working, in fact, _in concert with angels towards a common goal from opposite ends._"

"But the implications, my dear sir!" said Aziraphale, wondering if he could take another reorganisation of his world view. "Well, it would change everything!"

"Think of it less as a change than as a late course correction."

"I suppose," said Crowley. 

"We want to start a petition," said Julian. "And we hoped you would sign."

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look, a look that covered pretty much everything. The thing of it was, Garak was persuasive, and Crowley couldn't help thinking that he had got at something. And he rather, though he would never admit it, liked the idea of himself as an agent of good. It made the whole fallen thing much more appealing. Aziraphale was keen on the idea. He was always trying to make Crowley out to be good, and perhaps he wasn't wrong? It was only Aziraphale's dislike of change that made him hesitate.

They were saved an immediate answer by the reappearance of the waiter, with a tray of steamed, stuffed breads for their first course. Julian and Garak didn't press, merely went on to talk about the food, and the weather, and other sundries. The whole meal – all seven courses – passed in pleasantries, with no mention of 'the plan' again. 

When the aperitifs were brought, it was Crowley who spoke. He lifted his glass, gave a wink to Aziraphale, and gave his toast.

"To New Beginnings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! Thanks to everyone for following along on this odd little zig-zaggy fic! This was originally just going to be a quick fluffy 2 chapter fic where Aziraphale and Crowley got Garak and Julian together, but - inspired by comments about other ways it could go - I decided to do something different from my usual, which was more of an improv make-it-up chapter by chapter approach. It was interesting. Certainly approaching from this angle gave me a lot more freedom to just throw in ideas without worrying about whether everything fit together or made sense. It did, however, make finding an appropriate ending point much more difficult. I now understand why Monty Python and the Holy Grail (and many of their skits) end as they do!
> 
> If anyone is inclined to play around in this odd little cross-over AU, please feel free to romp.
> 
> I think I'll be starting a long Garashir fic soon, so if you're interested in hearing about it you can subscribe through AO3 or follow me on tumbler (@zaan-zaan)


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